


Mort au lever du soleil

by fleurbailius



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: X & Y | Pokemon X & Y Versions
Genre: F/M, lacewood, lacewood shipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 17:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1558181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurbailius/pseuds/fleurbailius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Translation: Death at sunrise<br/>A lacewood AU where the world has turned backwards not too long before the events of the French Revolution. Prince Augustine finds himself falling in love with a commoner girl but class will not save her if it won't save himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mort au lever du soleil

**Author's Note:**

> The prologue to get a good feel of the environment this story is in. I wanted it to be darker in this exposition, starting from a spot further along in the story, going back to an earlier moment with the next chapter, then gradually working towards the end. I love writing stories like this and I hope you enjoy and are patient to see what's to come!

The world had turned blood red that morning as the looming guillotine served its purpose in the courtyard. A young man in tattered coats sipped tea across from his partner, staring through broken glass of a debilitated flat at the scene unfolding before them. His long black hair had been pulled back, his legs crossed in discomfort. The beautiful lady across the table set down her flowery cup and coaster, grinning sorrowfully into the brown liquid that had long since gone cold. She looked absolutely radiant even in commoner's clothes.

That was how he had found her. Worn brown slippers and layers of skirts dirty from hard work, a golden bun piled sloppily onto her head. A scarlet ribbon flowed freely in her hair as she ran towards a young boy in blue trousers. 

"Antoine you musn't run away from your mama!" She languidly scooped up the burbling boy and handed him off to an older looking woman, plump and worn out from years of child-bearing.

"Madamoiselle Serena, you are too kind. Please come by and let me pay you for helping me yet again," She gave a scolding glare at the little boy. 

Serena shook her head, blond strands of hair setting themselves free from the messy bun, "Madame I musn't! Your family is large and I have what I need right here for the two of us, mother and I." She pointed at a produce filled wicker basket a couple feet back.

The older woman promptly snatched away the basket and headed into the house it had been dropped in front of. The shack was small and battered, boards filling cracks in the fragile glass front window. The bulding was a few stories up, where surely enough sizable families managed to survive in. From the open doorway downstairs came a man about Serena's age, more vegetables in the wicker basket than before, and handed them to her.

"My mother insisted and one does not argue with that woman, "His laughter was brief, as if the Devil himself would strike him for speaking so ill. Serena laughed softly into the back of her hand. She held the basket to her side, giving a slight curtsy in thanks.

"Calem, your family is incroyable-"

"If there's anything you ever need, I-" He looked inside and chewed on his tongue.

"Calem," her smile was weak, "s'il vous plaît." She gestured at him to be silent and took her leave, abandoning the flustered young man in his proposal.

Now, she looked nothing like she had that day on Prince Augustine's way to market. As of late Serena was stern and exhausted, dark circles lining her eyes, frayed strands of sullen hair, dried cracks in her lips where she had chewed away too much skin. A dainty hand slipped across the table to her darling. He took it in worried longing. Calem's family sat around them, little Antoine crying out hungry. The revolution had stopped nothing and only starved the already hungry, murdered the innocent, and allowed leaders of madmen.

Augustine silently observed his own state of being as he caressed Serena's soft fingers against his own calloused ones. As an aristocrat in hiding, his state was much filthier than the one he previously upheld. The clothes of gold and rich blues and reds had long been traded for rags, his short closely styled hair had grown much longer than his parents would have allowed. God rest their souls. He no longer shaved, his silver frames had been snapped in two, and he called himself by a different title. These losses were petty, but Augustine's frightened hand gently thumbing his neck reminded him the ultimate price he could yet pay. A glimmer of light caught his eye, turning him away from his belle who sat in hot frustration to leer at the scenery upon the courtyard.

The blood soaked cobblestone yard gleamed brilliantly in the high rising sun, a fair head of auburn rested at the base of the executioner's steeple, and a child wailed only once for it's mother before joining her silent gaze towards a hollow sun.


End file.
